Aurora waited until Rafael's breath evened out beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily against her back. His arm was still wrapped around her waist like a chain made of heat and muscle, possessive even in sleep.
But she wasn't sleeping.
She couldn't.
Not after what she saw.
That envelope.
Her father's name written in Rafael's unmistakable handwriting.
Her pulse thudded in her ears as she slowly slid from beneath his arm, inch by inch, until her feet touched the floor. The air was cooler away from his body, and her skin prickled with the absence of him… or maybe it was the dread.
The letter was still where she'd seen it earlier—half-hidden in the drawer he never let her touch.
She opened it with trembling hands.
Inside was a single sheet of paper. Typed. Clean. With one line that shattered her world.
"Aurora's father is alive. Relocated under Costa protection. Do not reveal."
Her knees buckled.
Alive?
Protected?
By Rafael?
She staggered backward, the letter falling from her fingers like it had burned her.
All this time. While she'd mourned. While she'd screamed at the stars, thinking she was alone—he'd known. He'd known, and he hadn't told her.
The door creaked behind her.
Rafael was awake.
Bare chest, tousled hair, jaw locked tight.
He saw the paper on the floor. Saw her wide eyes. Saw the betrayal blooming in her expression.
And he said nothing.
"Tell me this is fake," she whispered, voice raw.
He didn't.
Her heart cracked.
"You let me believe he was dead," she hissed, voice rising. "You let me drown in it. For what? Control?"
Rafael stepped forward. "You weren't ready—"
"Don't," she snapped, backing away. "Don't twist this. You manipulated me. You used my grief to break me."
His eyes darkened, hard and cold. "I protected you."
"You caged me."
"I gave you everything."
"You took everything," she cried, tears burning her cheeks. "You took my father from me. My choices. My body."
In two steps, he closed the distance.
"You gave me your body," he growled, gripping her waist, slamming her against the wall. "And don't lie to yourself—you loved every second of it."
"I hate you," she spat, shoving at him.
"No, baby," he said, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. "You hate that you still want me."
And God help her, he was right.
Even now, her body betrayed her—core aching, skin tingling from the rough press of his hips against hers.
He crashed his mouth onto hers, violent, furious, desperate. She bit his lip; he groaned and kissed her harder. Their fury turned to friction, heat blooming between their bodies.
His hand slid down, fingers finding her slick and ready.
"You're mine," he said, voice shaking with rage and lust. "Even when you hate me. Especially then."
He didn't wait.
He lifted her, her legs wrapping around him instinctively, and slammed into her with a punishing thrust that stole the breath from her lungs.
She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs clenching around his waist.
"This doesn't fix anything," she breathed.
"No," he agreed, thrusting deep, voice strained, "but it reminds you who owns you."
His rhythm was brutal, unrelenting. She moaned, lips parted, head falling back as he fucked her like she was the last thing keeping him alive.
She came first—hard and fast—shaking against him, gasping his name through gritted teeth.
Then he followed with a strangled groan, hips jerking as he filled her.
They both stood there for a long second. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Too much silence between their breaths.
Then Rafael pulled out, stepping back without a word.
And Aurora—still pinned against the wall, dripping, shaking—looked up at him with something colder than hate.
"I want to see him," she said.
His jaw tightened.
"You owe me that much."
His voice was flat. "I owe you nothing."